Stress relief and more insurance.

I need to come clean.

I have ... fantasies.

They usually overtake me while I'm spacing off in traffic. Minding my own business, thinking about work, or how much peanut butter I have and how that equates to how long I can avoid going to the grocery store, or whatever, and suddenly I'm there. I'm in the fantasy. Living the fantasy. And loving it.

You see, when I'm in traffic, I often find myself fantasizing about ... rear ending cars with stupid bumper stickers.

This happens even more than I fantasize about giving makeovers to other drivers. So, you know it happens a lot.

My favorite targets are cars with anti-choice bumper stickers. Particularly old Buicks with anti-choice bumper stickers. Especially Buicks with anti-choice bumper stickers driven by men.

Now, I'm all for freedom of speech and freedom of religion. I'm for freedom of choice. And when I see an old guy driving a Buick plastered with anti-choice bumper stickers? Well, it seems like the equivalent of me wearing a t-shirt that says "Ask me about my vasectomy."

So, there's that. There's also the bumper car aspect of it. Wouldn't it really make your day if you could just rear end a car just to make yourself feel better? If it was a socially accepted way to burn stress - like going to the gym or hitting happy hour?

"How was your day, dear?"

"Well, my boss is a total ass and our quarterly report is going to warrant pay cuts. But I rear ended a Olds Cutlass on the way home, and now I know everything is going to be ok."

Of course, there's this classic bit of cinema for inspiration.



I really think this is a solid idea. And, it will help the economy by sending more business to body shops. It's the American way. A total win-win.

Remember: not rear ending that car in front of you means the terrorists have won.

Lifestyles of the rich and famous.

Last night, it was Sabrina and a Cadbury creme egg. Tonight? Skittles and ... a made-for Hallmark-TV movie starring ... Jaclyn Smith.

Except! Except a good-looking guy just came on the scene, and a quick imdb.com search shows that it's none other than C. Thomas Howell.

Work with me. I'm trying to pretend C. Thomas makes my watching the Hallmark channel a little less lame.

But really? It's lame. Laaaaaaame. Especially since I started watching The Jaclyn Show because I was watching The Golden Girls before that. Again, on the Hallmark channel.

I'm scared.

Yeah, I'm scared of accidentally turning 70 when I'm not paying attention. But mostly? Mostly I'm scared of ... everything.

Online dating is scary. Meeting new people is scary. Opening myself up means setting myself up for rejection. I'm scared of not being good enough. Of not being whatever enough.

And I'm scared of being invisible.

I got called Dorothy at Corporate Behemoth today. In a fit of inspired passive aggression, I wrote on my wipe board:

Hello! My name is ... Cha Cha

Number of times I've been called Dorothy since 4/15/09: I
Number of times I've been called Zsa Zsa since 4/15/09: I

At least Jaclyn never calls me by the wrong name. She loves me just the way I am!

And, I swear I'm sober. I'm just tired. Really, really tired.

Why I'm watching Sabrina and eating a Cadbury creme egg.

We're doing some testing on our language at Corporate Behemoth. For the last several days, I've been listening to folks going through all sorts of text that I carefully, painstakingly crafted.

Today, one of our test participants gave us a lot of feedback. A lot of feedback.

"Oh, I just don't like that at all."

"Check the box? What does that even mean?"

And, of course, my favorite ...

"Who WROTE this?"

I think I'll go take a bath.

Nobody puts Baby in a corner.

Last night I went to a Big Stoopid Gala to support my friend L., who was on the event committee. I knew no one. But it was fun and a great event.

After dinner, I made a pit stop. As I exited the ladies' room, the DJ started playing "I've Had the Time of My Life" from Dirty Dancing. The people? Went nuts. There was much dancing. And as I walked past the dance floor, a man grabbed me and started twirling me around and dancing.

I embrace life. I went with it. I'm not a great dancer and my shoes were killing me, so it took me a moment or two to realize that it wasn't just my lack of moves that caused me to feel on the verge of falling - it was Mr. Dance Guy's lack of balance. And his total, complete inebriation.

I went with it. And never have I realized how frickin' long that song is. But then Mr. Dance Guy put his hand on my rear and all bets were off. I pushed him away. "Watch it, buddy."

"Hey!" he replied. "Sorry - you are just so attractive. Would it help if I told you I'm a doctor?"

Seriously? Did I come here for dinner or a pap smear?

"No, it wouldn't help," I said. "I'm not impressed."

"You're a smart girl," he leered. "What's your name?"

Oh, hell no. "My name is Lola."

He nodded and smirked. "Lola. Yeah. My name is Rajesh. Are you a doctor too?"

Uh? Sure. "Yes. Yes, I'm a doctor."

He smiled. "Yeah, I thought so. Smart, good girls are doctors or lawyers. What sort of doctor are you? Pediatrician? Or gynecologist?"

Oh, shit. It's been a long time since I've mindfucked a drunk. "I'm a psychiatrist."

He appeared nonplussed. "Where do you practice? What hospital? I'm at St. Joseph's."

So, obviously I'm not at St. Joseph's. "I'm not at a hospital - I have a private practice."

He nodded. "Do you know what kind of doctor I am? I'm a gastroenterderlerologist. My mom would like you. She doesn't like the girls I date and wants to know why I'm not married. She wants babies. But I go to the gay bars all the time because I get so much (word I'm not going to type on my blog) there. The girls? Their defenses are down and I get laid all the time!"

I could not buh-lieve that I was having this conversation, and that this guy considered this conversation flirting. I tried to remove myself from the situation, which was sort of like looking away from a car crash. Or Rock of Love Bus.

"Listen, I'm not the girl you're looking for. I have to go find my friends."

"You think just because I'm Indian that I'm not a good lover?"

WHAT? It was also about this time that I realized he was so drunk he was almost cross-eyed.

"Listen," he said, as I continued to back away from him, matching his advances step for step. "I went to a Catholic school in India. Do you know how we started every day? Dear Lord, in heaven, hallowed name, thy kingdom on Earth as heaven, daily bread ..."

Evidently, in Catholic schools in India, they teach an abbreviated version of The Lord's Prayer. Who knew?

After he finished his "prayer," Mr. Dance Guy leaned in. "I bet I have a better vocabulary than you do."

And this is when I couldn't help myself. I laughed in his face. I almost fell down I was laughing so hard. I know enough about the English language to know that gastro - whatever docs deal with bile. And Mr. Dance Guy was obviously well suited for the job.

I just walked away. And about 20 minutes later, security kicked Mr. Dance Guy out of the event.

Bea as you are.

The other day, I passed a church sign that read, "God truly lives. Do you?"

At the time, I was driving home from a blind date, so I thought, "Yes, yes I do truly live. Thank you."

And I figured I got extra credit because the date was with a guy from the Internet, a guy who had berated me for not e-mailing him back in a quick-like fashion. Upon receiving my "Seriously? That doesn't fly" e-mail, he asked if we could cut to the chase and just meet. He was nice enough, but I think we would probably kill each other. And, I'm not down with someone who has the potential to be all, "Uh, you said you'd be here 20 minutes ago and you're late and I'm mad and will be mad instead of asking why you're bandaged head to toe and escorted by the police."

You know?

He sent me an e-mail asking if he could see me again. My response? "You are awesome. But you're probably more awesome for someone else, although I'm a member of your fan club."

Sigh.

Speaking of fan clubs, Poochie is totally a member of The Golden Girls Fan Club. And really, who isn't? We used to watch it every Saturday night at our grandparents' house. As an adult, I now realize there was a lot that I just didn't get watching it as a youngun' - there's actually a lot of blue humor. And it's brilliant.

I felt real, honest sadness today with the passing of Bea Arthur. She was The Coolest Woman Ever. And she was always in on the joke. Good for her. Good for us.

Hey jealousy.

I think I've snapped out of my "I can't believe I'm here (aka single, never married, no kids, giant loser)" funk. I'd like to thank:

1. Take Your Child to Work Day. This morning, the lobby at Corporate Behemoth was filled with nervous young lads and lasses accompanying mom and dad to work. I was on the elevator with an earnest boy of about 9 and his dad. The boy was carrying a Corporate Behemoth bag and looked at his dad for confirmation that they should get off at the 15th floor. I wanted to just eat him with a spoon.

By lunch, the cuteness had ... faded. The cafeteria was filled with slightly frazzled parents and their hyper offspring who couldn't believe that pizza and pop were available for lunch EVERY DAY!

By about 3:30, the parents were easily identifiable: haggard, short-tempered and sporting paper-clip necklaces. They left early.

2. My shrink. We talked - again - about I Can't Believe I'm Here, and she said, "Honey, you are so lucky you didn't marry Ex-Ex! You could have Baby Number One, and Baby Number Two, or maybe Baby Number One and then Twins, and you'd be with that loser or you'd be alone with all those kids! Be glad you're eating cereal and a chocolate chip cookie for dinner."

I lurve her.

3. Poochie. Because he is my friend, always makes me laugh, and has agreed to help paint my house. Who needs a boyfriend when you have a brother who is A Man?

No pictures today. You're welcome.

So, I was being a good doggie mama. Really, I was. I was indulging Lil' Frankfurter in yet another round of his favorite game, Frank Pushes The Tennis Ball Under The Couch And Barks At A Deafening Pitch Until Mama Retrieves It.

Perhaps you've heard of it.

Last night, I even placed rolled towels around the couch, so as to prevent the tennis ball from rolling under the couch. All to no avail. Lil' Frank is really good at Frank Pushes The Tennis Ball Under The Couch And Barks At A Deafening Pitch Until Mama Retrieves It, and so no mere towels could match his mad skillz.

Today, I am evidently a little too slow to drop what I'm doing every 30 seconds to drop to all fours and fish the tennis ball out from under the couch. I'm lazy like that. Obviously.

And so when I handed the ball to Frank, he grabbed it a little too ferociously. And took a good portion of my finger along with it.

You ever have those moments where you stare at a body part (yours) and wonder, "Where's the blood? I know there's gonna be blood. Let's see how much. That's a good test of how awful this injury is. But all I can see is white light! The pain! Gah!" And then you run into the bathroom, cursing your dachshund, and stick your hand under the faucet, and see the blood, and your first reaction is "Oh, shit. I'm not old enough to handle this. I should call my mom." And then you realize that your mom lives four hours away?

You ever have those moments? No? Just me? Oh. Ok.

So, basically, sweet Lil' Frank ripped a good portion of the skin off the top third of my middle finger. I thought I was going to pass out as I stood hunched over the bathroom sink, letting the hot water run over my hand. And then?

Lil' Frank brought the tennis ball into the bathroom. And he nudged it. Carefully. Under the vanity. And then? He started to bark.

At which point I became Mommy Dearest.

In an effort not to incriminate myself to the ASPCA, I'll just state that all three of us are now hanging out on the couch. We are all still alive. Because of the blood loss (or general laziness), I've determined that we really don't need to take a walk tonight.

I've also determined that God just provides, you know? I had no idea what I was going to write about today. And then? Opportunity, like an oozing wound.

And ... scene!

It's been a long day and I don't have anything witty or interesting to share. So, you are stuck with The Daily Doxies. Doing what I'm about to go do myself.

Cuz that's how we roll.

I keep it in perspective.

I'm wallowing a bit.

I drove 40 minutes to Far Southern Suburb to hang out with Mr. Interwebnets yesterday. I live in a small post-war suburb that's exactly 12 minutes from downtown. I'm not all Urban Hipster. But when the driving directions include four different highways and miles and miles of farmland? I get a little itchy.

Mr. Interwebnets and I had a nice time - Chinese food and a movie. But on that long, dark drive home, when I felt like the only car on the highway? I felt so totally alone.

I can't believe I'm here. I can't believe that I'm almost 34 and I'm driving to BFE in the hopes of finding happiness with a man I met on the Internet. I can't believe I'm here again.

I'm exhausted.

I love my life. I have great friends, a wonderful family, a nice little house, a job I enjoy. But I still can't quite believe that I'm here ... alone. I'm glad that I didn't get married the weekend after college graduation ... or the weekend after high school graduation, for that matter, because I did grow up in that town. I'm glad I've had time to figure me out.

But I'm just amazed. And lonely. And know that in wallowing, I'm not focusing on the really good stuff, like how I had cereal and chocolate chip cookies for dinner because ah-ha! I live alone! And in the past, I have missed alone time when I suddenly wasn't alone anymore.

But right now? Right now, I feel like the only single woman in the history of the universe.

However, the serious illness of an important scientist did make me laugh and laugh today.

No, not his actual illness - more like my illiteracy.

CNN.com reported today:

Scientist and author Stephen Hawking is "very ill" and has been hospitalized, according to Cambridge University, where he is a professor ... Hawking, one of the world's most famous physicists, is also a cosmologist, astronomer, and mathematician.

Stephen Hawking is a cosmetologist? Like, OMG! I had no idea. I bet his hair designs are totally cutting edge.

And, with that, let's all say a prayer for the poor man who has been living with ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease) for 40 years. Which is, let's be honest, worse than being single in your 30s.

Yeah, I'm a total stage mother.

Remember when Foxie Doxie and Lil' Frankfurter put together a blockbuster movie event that put Nicholas Cage's latest drivel to shame?

Yeah. Me too. Their egos are now huuuuge.

Well, we've been thinking about their next career move. The lovely Marsha at Tumble Fish Studio had a great suggestion:

Hey, Xanadu is on. I don't know why but I thought of you and your doxies. Can they skate? I see another movie script in your future. Isn't it about time we had another roller skating magical musical?

You know, it is about time we had another roller skating magical musical. I feel like there's an important element missing from movies today, and that element is rollerskating.

Confession time: I never really learned how to rollerskate. I was cool at the skating rink for approximately 10 minutes in 1984 because I knew all the words to Weird Al's "Eat It." But actual skating? Umm, not so much.

So, teaching Foxie and Lil' Frank to skate is a challenge. Nevermind the fact that they have to coordinate four paws, not just two, and that Frank pees when he gets nervous. And if you've never experienced a dog peeing as he rollerskates around your house? Well, consider yourself lucky.

So, right now we're looking for stunt doubles to do all the skating.

Foxie is relieved.

But Frank's acting classes are really paying off - he feels he's really captured the magic of Olivia Newton-John's performance.

Olivia:

Lil' Frank:
The other piece of the puzzle is casting the role of Danny, originally portrayed by My Dead Celebrity Boyfriend, Gene Kelly.

You might look at this pic and be all, "Uh, Cha Cha? He's your dead celebrity boyfriend?"

But friends! Watch Singin' in the Rain! Behold Gene before he was trying to make rollerdisco look cool!

Try not to lick your computer screen. I dare you.

So, obviously, casting is really a problem with this Xanadu remake. The stunt doubles and a Gene Kelly stand-in who is even remotely appropriate are hard to find. So, the doxies and I are looking for other opportunities.

Lil' Frank wants to star in a romantic comedy, but I think he needs to get fully potty trained first. Foxie is championing a buddy flick, sort of a Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid for the canine set. And, of course, we're working on adapting Cher's "Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves" into a screenplay. Getting the rights to that one is tough.

In the meantime, much like The Jonas Brothers, the doxies are in high demand. Any movie suggestions?

Images courtesy of Google Images.

Drugs and Doogie.

Today was date number three with Mr. Interwebnets. We had lunch and then bummed around this afternoon. I was a bit run down today ... so when he left, I sort of rested on the couch.

FOR THREE HOURS.

Yes, you read that correctly. I took a three-hour nap. My mom is certainly on the verge of passing out, as my taking a three-hour nap was her greatest desire during my childhood - and always way, way out of reach.

Sorry, Mom.

I feel like I have been sick 4-EVAH. First the cold. Then the sinus infection. Then the antibiotics that make me feel like poop on a stick.

And really, what's better than reading someone's complaints about being slightly under the weather?

But here's the deal: I have one more day of antibiotics. I feel very "One Day More" from Les Miz.

One day more 'til revolution!
These drugs can fuck themselves!
I'm so tired of feeling like crap
That punk at Walgreens is a thuuuuug!

Few people know it, but those were actually the original lyrics. They were revised - something about Walgreens and antibiotics not having anything to do with the French revolution. Whatever.

So, I can't find a suitably tacky version of "One Day More," but here's a fantastic version of "Confrontation" featuring Jason Segel and Neil Patrick Harris.

Sadly, NPH isn't riding a unicorn in this clip, although that's always how I picture him.

Enjoy. And rejoice in the imminent end of Cha Cha Feels Like Crap blogging!



Image courtesy of God. And Google Images.

Social butterfly.

Tonight, I'm going to Big Stoopid Gala. It should be fun, but I'm most excited about wearing my glam new shoes.

So, I thought I'd show off the shoes.

Turns out, I had some help. So, instead of showing off the shoes, it's really more of a photo essay entitled "Living With Lil' Frankfurter, Style Guru."
Mother, what are you doing?

Foxie, check these out.

Please tell me you aren't going out wearing those shoes with jeans rolled up like that. Please. Don't make me stage an intervention.

-Fin-

In other social news, I received the most awesome intro e-mail on match.com. Most of the online dating communication I feature here is paraphrased to protect the guilty. But this one? I just have to post in all of its glory.

Keep in mind that I don't know this man from a can of paint and this is his very first communication with me. And his last.

I don't know if I ramble too much in these or not. I'm a really cool guy. I can show you a good time. I'll pay for everything unless you insist on buying. I miss my friends. I'm not a native of . I don't know very many people this far South. I live at like . I work crazy hours in the winter, which isn't too bad considering it's cold and nasty. I love to joke around a lot. I don't know how to describe myself in writing. All the women I know and haven't dated complain about the guys on line. I am not looking for a one night stand. I'm not a perv. I just wish I could find a great girl that isn't afraid to joke around and have a good time. Someone that doesn't have to drink a six pack every night. Someone who is self confident. I swear I'm a crazy magnet and it has brought me here. I want to meet someone I can take serious. It gets pretty lonely here with all my friends living to far away to just drop on in. I can't even get them to come down this far to see me even if I offer up free beer. I have to pack up and head up North to visit them. I just can't do that very often. I think I've written to many of these. I'm starting to wonder if it is really all it is hyped up to be. I'm not a loser. I'm not ugly. I shower. I work. I brush my teeth...all of them. I've been told I'm a good kisser. I'm confident and good at what I do. I can be very artistic if inspired. I have 2 cars and a motorcycle I live in a huge apartment with my cat. He's crazy and running around like mad right now. I love him though. I don't know what else to say. I'm not needy. I'm not mean. I'm not violent. It would hurt me to have to hurt someone I cared about so I don't. I don't fight or argue. I am perhaps too easy going or nice. I had a girlfriend breakup with me once because I was too good to be true. I never got that one but she was a bit crazy. I only have myself to spoil. I'd love to have someone else to spoil. I'm running out of things I want. And I have everything I need. I'm ready to settle down and be a great boyfriend. I'd like to know more about you.

Later,

Guy

Oh, Guy. I'm allergic to cats. Sorry.

Important lessons.

I learned a few things this weekend.

1. No matter how hard I try, I will never be as tall as my brother. Notice that he is slouching and I am thinking tall to no avail.
2. Shih tzus do not appreciate the full Nelson wrestling hold. Also, Poochie is brilliant.3. Balancing the demands of children is a challenge.

4. Sort of like last year, when they inadvertently exchanged the exact same card for their anniversary, my parents often think alike. They did not coordinate their outfits on purpose, nor did they consider the photo ops of Easter Sunday. However, they are just the most gorgeous couple in the universe.

And shih tzus like to be held, just not in a full Nelson.

I am rich. RICH!

Disappointment.

On my Easter recap, the lovely Green Girl left this comment:

glad to see you had a rock bus of loveless holiday! remember, recovery is one day at a time, cha cha!

Oh, Melissa. I'm sorry. And I'm mostly sorry that the show isn't actually called Rock Bus of Love. Because that rocks!

Sunday was the Rock of Love Bus season finale. Would Bret choose Whiny-But-Nice-Girl Mindy?

Or Prissy-Yet-You've-Seen-My-Vajayjay Taya?

Of course I had to watch.

Bret took the ladies to the Dominican Republic. First up was his date with Mindy. Is it just me, or is it creepy that Bret picked out the dress Mindy was to wear on their date?

It's not just me. Creepy!

And is it just me, or does Mindy have some issues if she wrote five pages of notes on what she wanted to say to Bret, but barely was able to make dinner conversation, despite the fact those five pages of notes were in her purse the whole time?

As for Taya ... she managed to pose even while zip-lining through the jungle on her date with Bret. She's a little too pose-tastic for me. At one point, she addressed the question of whether she was on the show for publicity about her Penthouse spread (in more ways that one) by saying, "It's not like I am walking around in a Penthouse t-shirt or something!"

God love the producers, who then cut to Taya wearing a Penthouse Pet tank top.

So, Bret chose Taya, who looked like she was going to barf during the final scene. And after, she was all, "I can't believe it! I'm Bret's rock of love!"

It was unsettling. He should have chosen Mindy. I have been so unsettled by this that I couldn't even write about it yesterday, and today, I'm still at a bit of a loss. Maybe I'm just sad that there's the reunion show next week, and then I will be adrift, a woman without a television obsession. Or maybe I've been in denial and the camp factor blinded me to the fact that it's all just fake, fake, fake. I heard Mindy on the radio this morning, and she admitted that she's doing the reality show star circuit and looking for parts in movies - oh, and by the way, she's still totally heartbroken over Bret.

Then, I heard that Bret got a cool $2 million for the show.

Then, I reread the match.com e-mail that basically called me a heathen and I freaked the fuck out. I'm not a stripper! I'm not a porn star! I have never been on a reality show where I dressed like a whore and let some weave-wearing rocker slip me a probably-syphilitic tongue upon our first meeting! I am practically a nun compared to these girls! I'm a nice girl! And, oh, great, I just spent 12 hours of my life being told yet again that nice girls never get the guy. Great. Thanks for the reminder.

So, Green Girl, the finale finally broke me. I am so over Rock of Love.

But of course I'll have to watch the reunion show. You know, for closure.

Images courtesy of vh1.com.

Celebrating eggsellence.

I just got home from a weekend with the fam.

Best Family Sporting Event

Bocce ball. We played with Poochie's BFF, whom we all admit is our parents' second favorite child, after the shih tzu. The day was gorgeous, the dogs kept trying to catch the Bocce balls, and I kept my losing streak intact. I scored no points. All afternoon.

Best Random match.com E-mail

Dear Cha Cha,

I'm sorry I haven't contacted you a while. I have been focusing on someone special here on match, and it's to the point where it wouldn't be fair for anyone if I continue building other relationships. I think you're great and that we would definitely have fun together. If circumstances change, I hope you don't mind if I contact you. But for now, I hope you understand.

Best of luck,

Dude

How nice for Dude to acknowledge all of this - I think this is classy and truly wish him the best.

Worst Random match.com E-mail

Dear Cha Cha,

I apologize for the long delay in replying. As it turns out, I've met someone through this site and we are enjoying spending time together. In addition, my view of Christianity is quite a bit more orthodox than yours. So, from that point of view, we are obviously not a good match.

You have a wicked sense of humor. Best of luck.

Some Guy

That's fine, Some Guy. I didn't realize that real Christianity involved e-mailing match.com contacts on Easter morning, but I guess you know better than I do. Besides, I'm too busy burning in hell to date you, anyway.

Best Accessories

Easter bandannas, of course.

Best Reaction to Lil' Frankfurter Barking and Peeing Inside All Weekend

Cha Cha: So, Dad, I can get you a dachshund reeaaaal cheap.

Dad: Huh?

Cha Cha: What's it gonna take to get you into a dachshund today?

Dad: I don't think I've ever been that drunk.

Best Reaction to the Long-Term, Ongoing Feud Between Cha Cha and Poochie Over Their Mother's Avocado Green Circa 1969 Crock Pot That They Both Want Upon Her Unfortunate Demise

Mom: If you kids can't work it out, I am going to be cremated! And then they'll put my ashes in the crock pot! And then you'll just have to pass it back and forth and nobody will get to use it!

Best Appearance By a Long-Lost Friend

Krampus the Christmas Frog is back! And fresh as a spring day in his Easter finery.

Krampus surprised the family by hiding in the pantry in front of the breakfast cereal. And later? I stepped out of the shower to find a terrifying message on the steamed-up mirror:

Krampus will come for YOU!

I expected to find Krampus sitting in the hallway with a knife, but he was actually pretty mellow this fine Easter weekend. I think he had too much sugar. I blame Peeps.

Date recap.

I had a second date tonight with my new friend from the Interwebnets. We just talked and talked and talked - I like him.

He told me about running into an elderly woman at his grandpa's funeral. She got right up in his face and said, "I bet you don't know who I am."

He admitted that no, he didn't. And she promptly announced, "I'm one of the twins!"

Turns out she was a cousin of his grandpa - and rather taken with Mr. Interwebnets. She asked him if he had a sweetheart.

When he replied no, she slapped him on the arm and announced, "Well! You should do that intercom dating!"

Heh heh heh.

We all have our special gifts.

It’s only 10 a.m. and already it’s been a very exciting day.

Big Honkin’ Freeway, which I take to get to Corporate Behemoth, was backed up due to an accident. Cops were forcing five lanes of traffic into the far left lane. A stretch of road that typically takes 30 seconds took me 15 minutes to navigate.

But! In the midst of everyone trying to make road friends and merge? And everybody flipping off of the giant semi who was tailgating and refused to let anyone in?

There was The Guy in the Truck.

The Guy in the Truck passed me, slowing down to wave and wink. Umm? Ok.

And then he pulled in front of me and adjusted his mirrors to keep looking at me and smiling and winking.

Umm?

I tried to think of it as a compliment. And then I realized that my seatbelt was perfectly dissecting my ample bosoms. And so I was a basically a mobile advertisement for BREASTS!

So, yeah. It’s Wednesday. I still have a sinus infection. But I’m bringing joy to the peoples.

Oh, and today I spilled ketchup on my dress pants - not once, but twice.

I almost passed out getting ready for work this morning. I'd been doing ok this weekend, but I was also spending about half of each day laying about like a bum. But actually getting up and trying to get ready for work? Harsh.

So, I went to the doctor. The plague? Now has a name. Sinus infection, you suck. I hate you. And I hate the antibiotic that's making me feel better already but that makes my mouth taste like I just cleaned a toilet with my tongue.

So, yeah, I am an awesome sick person. Everybody wants to be around me.

However, in between my bouts of sleeping this weekend, I managed to fit in three very important things:

1. I bought a pair of cowboy boots. I know! But they are beautiful. I went with a friend to pick something up from the western store in town and got suckered in. And, it was the first and only store I've ever been in where the owners sell clothes and smoke in the store. Yee-haw.

2. I watched Rock of Love Bus. Ok, all the brunette girls who seemed so normal compared with the blonde strippers? Are batshit crazy. The one normal girl got kicked off this week, so Bret is left with the choice of Whiny-and-Emotionally-High-Maintenance Mindy or Have-I-Mentioned-I'm-Penthouse-Pet-of-the-Year Taya (Whose Real Name is Laurie).

Jeeeeezus, Bret. Just call me, ok? We will find you a nice girl. A nice, sane girl who hasn't flashed her goods for the entire universe to see.

3. I went on a date. With a guy from The Interwebnets. And it was great! We talked and talked and laughed and laughed and laughed. And he said he "really was" going to call me - which was weird, because it never occurred to me that he wouldn't call, because this was a great date. And I am naive like that.

That was Saturday. And now it's Monday, and I'm starting to be all, "When's he gonna call?" I've turned into That Woman. Just like in the movies. Except with a messier house. And a sinus infection that makes me sounds like I've smoked for 50 years. Because I'm attractive like that.

Just got paid. It's Friday night.

Today, I worked from home. And took some sick leave. Basically, I meant to work from home but at some point, I fell asleep with my laptop on my lap, and I woke up two hours later. So ... yeah.

I got cleaned up around dinnertime and my friend L. and I went to Wendy's, because the rhinovirus? Demanded a burger. Then, we went to the movies. Because everyone should interact with the world outside their house, even if they sound like they smoke three packs a day.

We saw Adventureland, which is sweet and funny and makes me want to go to an amusement park. And then? I asked L. if she minded if we stopped by the grocery as she dropped me home. I needed milk.

This turned into us grocery shopping for an hour, bitching about the lack of organic antiperspirants and oohing and ahhing over the ice cream produced by a local family dairy. I had forgotten how much fun it is to grocery shop late at night with a friend. In case you've forgotten, it's way fun. Way more fun that shopping alone, and a gazillion times more fun than shopping when all the clueless people block the aisles with their carts.

We also saw an older couple who were obviously grabbing some essentials on their way home from a big night out. Something about them made me think it was a casino. She was dressed head to toe in varying shades of pink. And he put his arm around her and gave her the sweetest look. I wanted to put them in my pocket and just take them home. But mostly, I hope somebody looks at me that way when I'm pushing 80 and dressed like a crazy crayon.

Ask Cha Cha.

I've been faced with many questions lately.

Question: Why do you sound like a frog who smokes three packs a day?
Asked by: Everyone
Answer: My cold is back. And I am pissed.

Question: Should everyone get a second dog?
Asked by: You know who you are
Answer: Yes. Shelters and rescue groups are busier than ever with animals that have been handed over due to the recession. If you have an itch to maybe get another dog, I say go for it. Lil' Frankfurter concurs.

Question: How did you get through your depression - that dark, awful, worst part - all by yourself?
Asked by: My dear, sweet friend who is in that same dark, deep hole right now
Answer: This question sort of surprised me - I hadn't really thought about it. My gut reaction, and I think the most honest one? I just did. I just got through it.

A more thorough response is that I took time in very small increments. A half-an-hour meeting? Ok, I can get through that. And I had wonderful friends who helped carry me through, especially before the Zoloft kicked in. And really? I just hope I can return the favor.

Question: Why is there no ice cream in the house?
Asked by: Me
Answer: There is no good answer to this, the question of our time. It's especially painful to note that there is also no chocolate in the house.

Question: Have you seen vh1's One Hit Wonders of the 80s?
Asked by: My imaginary friend
Answer: Yes! And it's wonderful! I had forgotten all about Frank Stallone. He has provided the theme song for the epic Cha Cha Versus The Cold From Hades fight: I am down, but I am far from over!

Question: So, uh, are you going to take some NyQuil?
Asked by: Lil' Frank and Foxie Doxie, who are tired of my raspy voice and are exhausted from their nursing duties
Answer: Ok, if you say so.

Because I'm the mama.

Tonight, I had a fancypants pedicure. Like, with a reflexology massage and everything. The lady was so nice, but at one point she did ask how long it had been since my last pedicure.

"By someone that's not me?"

"Uh-huh?"

I thought carefully. "About a year?"

Which is a total lie! It's been at least two years. No wonder I'm single. I've been walking around with the podiatrical (is that even a word? it should be) equivalent of a snaggletooth.

The kids? They are not amused. I make them wipe their paws every single time they come in the house. Why am I not held up to the same standards?

It's not fair.